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Some good luck for the Black Cat
Yes, the iconic club will weather the coronavirus storm
It’s one of the last true D.C. spaces to sit along 14th Street, a corridor now home to more banks and corporate eateries than the pawnshops and laundromats that some of us might remember. And standing on the checkered floor, looking around the main stage of the Black Cat, you would have thought the last show cleared out just moments ago — drums still sat on the stage, glasses sat on the bar, the campy Centaur pinball machine still aglow.
Dante Ferrando, owner, operator, and D.C. native met me upstairs and we talked all things Black Cat, the changing punk scene, 9-11, coronavirus, and the future of the club. Standing over five feet with blue hair and a convivial, upbeat attitude that may have had more to do with that coffee cup he’s hardly ever seen without, Ferrando sat at his table and me at mine. And I asked him point blank: Would the club weather this storm?
“We’ll be here,” he said.
The formula for success? A mixture of a timely PPP loan, robbing his own retirement fund, and the fact that they own the building. It’s not the same building they had when it all started back in 1993; that’s a few doors down. And the whole thing got started when Ferrando, himself a drummer in a band, cobbled together a group of investors, including Foo Fighters lead Dave Grohl, to start a live-music venue in the heart of the District. The year 2001 saw the Black Cat, in a three-day move, relocate to its current location. The second day of that move was Sept. 11. Ferrando told me that “was the worst year the club experienced,” adding, “until this year.” If anything is similar between now and then, it’s the fear and apprehension that’s cast a pall over the District. And live music events are squarely in the city’s Phase Four operating plan in dealing with the virus, that is, in a post-vaccine world.
Until then, Ferrando said that “me and my wife are burning through our retirement money.” And practically everyone was let go; Ferrando even fired himself. At peak business, the Black Cat would be employing 20 to 30 people at a time — everyone from bartenders, door people, coat check, sound and lighting. They were all gone within a week.
And then there were all the shows. Given the nature of the touring industry, his stage was booked out nine months in advance, and in a matter of weeks, hundreds of thousands of tickets had to be refunded. A second round of PPP loan applications was successful. But the limitations on what the funds can be used for are too strict, Ferrando said. It did help stave off disaster for sure. But it cannot be used toward D.C. property taxes — running about $214 a day — and the city hasn’t really given a break on that. Still, though shuttered, work continues. In 2018, the Black Cat announced plans to shrink by almost half. Why? As the Washington Post put it in 2018, “punks don’t live here anymore.” It’s just not the same D.C. that produced such famed punk groups as Fugazi.
And it’s certainly not the same 14th Street as in the early 1980s, when Ferrando would dread getting stopped at the light at 14th and P, because inevitably a prostitute would jump on the back of his motorcycle. The only way to shake them was to tell them he had no money. The whole street was just “a little rougher,” he told me. Most places were boarded up, and he counted four homeless shelters within a four-block radius. But, then again, punks, and the punks who worked at the Black Cat could afford to live in the neighborhood. And the grittiness and honest texture of the club’s numerous spaces appealed to them. But by the early 1990s, businesses started filling in. And by the time the Trader Joe’s and the high-end apartments above it arrived, Ferrando no longer had staff that could walk to work. But he also saw the writing on the wall, by downsizing the club by half — closing down the cafe and the “Backstage” venue, moving the fabled “Red Room” upstairs — Ferrando is busy reworking those spaces for retail rentals, hoping the rent generated there will help bolster the Black Cat’s finances.
And no, the Black Cat is not a gay space in the strictest sense. But, like any underground punk space, it can certainly lean queer. The staff of the Black Cat like to think of the space as a sort of unofficial gay bar, and as such they never shy from producing queer events with indy beats and bents. There’s Gay Bash, though that has since moved down the street to Trade. There’s the yearly Booty Rex Pride event for queer women and gender nonconformists. That’s been selling out yearly since 2014. There’s Homo-Sonic, and the old ABBA parties, those were back in the mid-90s. And there was Shea Van Horn and Matt Bailer’s mega popular Mixtape. There’s also Furball and Rich Morel’s Hot Sauce and so many Babe Rainbow Pride nights that they all sort of blend together in a cloud of vodka sodas and Madonna floor-filling dance songs. And of course, The Black Cat being primarily a venue for live music, the space has hosted a number queer acts and artists, including Janelle Monae, Limp Wrist, The Gossip, Perfume Genius, Bikini Kill, Christeene, Le Tigre, and Erase Errata, just to name a few.
What’s it all for? “I just like weird people,” Ferrando said. “Our goal was never to sell the most drinks, as long as we can pay the bills.” Adding, “what we do here is a bit more important.” And what they do — offering a space for the quirky, an art space, a fringe space, a safe space for the underground — is still hugely important especially now given the changing dynamics of the District. The underground was always a safe and special space for the queer community, a place where the misfits fit, here in D.C. and in all major cities.
And as spaces change, let’s hope Washington will still make room for the Black Cat.
a&e features
The queer Asian comics building collective joy in D.C.
Spotlighting chaotic ways family, romance, identity take shape in their lives
Kevin Chen’s family tombstone has room for four: him, his parents and his boyfriend. The arrangement might prove to be a little awkward.
“My boyfriend is 100% white, and my parents are 100% disappointed,” Chen confessed.
Jokes about family traditions and the untraditional ways they’re practiced earned a burst of laughs at the bar where Chen was opening for the Pride Comedy Special. The D.C. stand-up event, produced by Comedy Bonfyre last month, spotlighted queer Asian comics who shared the chaotic ways family, romance and identity take shape in their lives.
From candid oral sex takes to top surgery hypotheticals like “Where do the boobs go?”, the night highlighted the loud camaraderie of the queer Asian experience — one that sounds like a cacophony of snorts, cackles and belly laughs. While the comics say they are not quite a community, there’s more than enough shared material to bring them together.
“It was such a magical experience. I loved performing in a queer API lineup. It feels so validating,” Chen said after the show. “I’m wondering, ‘Is this how white men feel all the time?’”
Each performance evoked queer Asian joy through a medium that could use more of its presence.
According to Chen, who is based in D.C., it’s hard to say whether there is a true queer Asian comedy presence in his city. There are only a scattered “handful” of Asian comics, and people of color are underrepresented in queer comic circles, he said.
When Tarunika Anand, a nonbinary lesbian comic, first entered the mainstream D.C. comedy scene, they mostly encountered straight white men, describing the experience as “a culture shock.”
“I feel like sometimes a lot of queer spaces are really white, and then a lot of Asian spaces are really straight,” Anand said. “I don’t feel like I fit into either.”
But feeling marginalized didn’t stop these comics from honing their craft and creating spaces for others like them. Alex Kim, who headlined the special and is based in Brooklyn, runs the queer Asian comedy group Boba Gays, which began on WhatsApp and has since made its way to Lincoln Center.
Every Wednesday, Anand co-produces a free comedy show called Funny Side Up. The queer-led group focuses on inclusivity and showcasing new talent.
“It’s really beautiful to speak about your experience and your existence in a way that’s uplifting,” Anand said.
Family is a major throughline of their comedic repertoires.
Chen, for instance, shared that he identifies with jokes about having Asian immigrant parents and the expectations they pass down.
“You see me, you know this part about me, you know this experience intimately, and I can see the truth that you’re trying to wrap a joke around,” he said. “That hits even harder because that’s my truth too. I think that’s what makes good comedy.”
Anand had the audience at the special howling when they explained that their parents’ be-more-like-them comparisons didn’t end when they came out. Instead, the expectations took on a new form.
“Now, my parents want me to be the best gay,” Anand said. “They’re like, ‘Do you know Ellen DeGeneres?’”
Kim said he’s been trying to unlearn things from his Christian Korean mom. Yet he described a moment when he was getting ready for the club and realized he looked just like his mother getting ready for church.
“I’ve been finding it hard to escape her,” Kim said.
Mutual recognition also radiates through the different ways queer love can take shape. From singlehood to death-do-us-part commitments, the comics cover just about every corner.
Anand is holding out hope for settling down with “a nice, pretty, Indian girl.” They recently went through a breakup and said they felt they dodged a bullet.
“As a person of color, I just don’t think I should be with a Swiftie,” they said.
Chen, touching on what it’s like to be in a queer interracial relationship, said that meeting his white boyfriend’s baby nephew for the first time felt like he was forced to participate in a diversity, equity and inclusion training.
“The dad was like, ‘Please welcome Kevin. Be curious about his culture, his history, his foods,’” Chen joked.
Laughter is not the only reward for the comics.
To Anand, comedy is a space where they can say whatever they want. “It gives me a voice,” they said.
Nik Narain, a North Carolina-based trans and nonbinary South Asian comic who performed at the special, said meeting older trans comedians and taking the stage helped him feel reassured in his identity during his transition.
“Stand-up was a really cool way to process that onstage,” he said. “[It] became a way for me to repackage my thoughts.”
Queer Asians are still figuring out their place in the greater D.C. comedy scene. The group is small in numbers and many are still working toward a full-time comedy career. But Narain feels he’s already made it.
Narain is reluctant to pin it all on one moment. He feels that success is already peeking through in milestones — opening for celebrities, traveling to performances and self-producing shows.
“As long as I can keep doing this, I’m super happy,” he said.
This story was produced as part of the AAJA VOICES fellowship program, a student journalism project of the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA).
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Mr. Henry’s celebrates 60 years of proud inclusivity
Capitol Hill staple remains ‘a caring community’
America’s 250th isn’t the only milestone birthday D.C. is celebrating this year.
Beloved D.C. restaurant Mr. Henry’s, that Capitol Hill staple, celebrates its Diamond Jubilee all year long. Named for its original owner Henry Yaffe, the restaurant opened on a warm day 60 years ago in the summer of 1966 and has never looked back.
Yaffe took over what was then a country western restaurant, renovated the interior to his liking, and created an institution. Yet Yaffe had another goal. As a gay man, “he created Mr. Henry’s to be a place where everyone felt welcome — not easy in 1966 — and he succeeded,” says current owner Mary Quillian.
“Mr. Henry’s has long been a place the LGBTQ community has supported because they felt and still feel welcomed,” says Quillian. Even in the current administration, “the gay community and the diversity-minded community continue to come.”
Since then, Mr. Henry’s has changed hands, opened and closed its second floor, welcomed famed musical acts, and played host to politicians, date nights, breakups, and birthdays. But it still feels like home (and has a note in the National Trust for Historic Preservation) at 601 Pennsylvania Ave., S.E.
Its wood-paneled, Victorian-inspired art-filled décor in the downstairs dining room and bar serves American pub fare for lunch and dinner daily, with brunch on weekends (and a dog-friendly patio). Upstairs, Mr. Henry’s hosts live jazz performances and special events most nights, continuing a musical tradition that has defined the venue for decades. That upstairs bar has played host to names like Roberta Flack and Woody Allen.
Musician Kevin Cordt said that, “Mr. Henry’s has been a part of my life for more than 30 years. I started as a customer, then became a bartender and server, and now I have the good fortune to play trumpet at one of the best live music venues in Washington, D.C.”
Aaron Myers, executive director of the D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities, is also a supporter. “Not many cities can sport venues that have consistently served the community in the space of culture for more than 50 years, let alone can brag as the birthplace of culture defining talent.”
From the start, Yaffe promoted a rare yet celebrated combination of locals’ bar and soulful nightlife venue. Mr. Henry’s has attracted a diverse crowd at a time when such spaces were – and perhaps still are – uncommon, a diversity that is credited with helping protect the pub during the 1968 D.C. riots.
Longtime customer Evelyn Branic said, “Mr. Henry’s has been my ‘Cheers’ hangout since my wife and I moved to the Hill in 1987. I’ve experienced many iconic moments meeting politicians, reporters, civic activists, and neighbors engaging in spirited conversations. Whether political, LGBTQ, historians, neighbors, or out-of-towners, everyone could find a special place to be greeted as a friend.”
Its welcoming tables come dabbed with a bit of tea: In 1971, in a moment that has since become part of Capitol Hill lore, Yaffe lost the pub in a poker game to Larry Quillian. The Quillian family, recognizing the special role Mr. Henry’s played in the neighborhood, took over ownership, and committed to preserving its spirit. Today, Larry’s daughter Mary owns the bar, having given it a bit of a facelift for the bar’s 50th birthday, bringing in new tables and some fresh menu items.
For example, the menu has some of those dishes that regulars would riot if they disappeared. The Reuben and the hamburgers, the chili and in-house roasted turkey have never departed the menu. Dishes do evolve, says Quillen: they added wings about two decades ago.
In 2026, the restaurant is hosting monthly ticketed “decades” parties, celebrating each of the 10-year periods the restaurant’s been open, plus there were specials in June for Pride. The official 60th anniversary gala takes place Aug. 29, featuring performers, beverages, timeless favorite foods, swag – and the unveiling of a new cocktail.
Inclusive, eccentric, eclectic, Mr. Henry’s is looking forward to maintaining its centrality to diverse crowds in Capitol Hill. Battling inflation, rising menu prices, changing tastes, and thin margins, Quillian says that Mr. Henry’s has — and will always be — “a caring community for so many different folks. And THAT is why I am committed to keeping us going. Society needs places like Mr. Henry’s, now more than ever.”
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Television loses a legend, longtime ‘Will & Grace’ director James Burrows
Iconic hitmaker leaves behind a legacy of telling LGBTQ stories
You don’t have to be a pretentious film major to name 10 movie directors. But naming television directors is not that simple. They’re the unsung heroes of your favorite shows, and the late James Burrows was the television director. He passed on June 19, but his DNA runs through television history.
He directed over 1200 episodes of television and over 50 pilots. He co-created “Cheers” and directed many episodes of long-running series like “Friends,” “Taxi,” “Frasier,” “The Big Bang Theory,” and “Two and a Half Men.” You also may remember him from playing a heightened version of himself on the Lisa Kudrow comedy “The Comeback.”
He has left an indelible mark on the LGBTQ community. As recently as last year, he directed the series run of “Mid-Century Modern” starring Nathan Lane, Matt Bomer, and Linda Lavin. He was also a longtime director of “Will & Grace” and directed every episode of the series revival. He even directed the unaired “Absolutely Fabulous” pilot with Kathryn Hahn, Kristen Johnston, and Zosia Mamet.
Not to mention he’s worked with queer icons throughout history, including Betty White and Stockard Channing on their single-season series, and Jennifer Coolidge in “2 Broke Girls.”
He started his career on shows like “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” “Rhoda,” “Laverne & Shirley,” and the first four seasons of “Taxi.”
He continued to work steadily and directed successful pilots that went to series for “Roc,” “3rd Rock From the Sun,” “Dharma & Greg,” and “Wings.” He directed multiple episodes of “Friends,” “Caroline in the City,” and “Frasier.”
This magic continued into the 2000s with him directing the pilots for “Two and a Half Men,” “The Big Bang Theory,” and multiple episodes of “Mike & Molly,” and the entire return series of “Will & Grace.”
What was the secret to his success? He’d enact the “fun clause” in his contract. In his words, “Life is too short to deal with obnoxious leads,” he shared. “So as long as the writing is good and the cast is fun, I’m going to enjoy the experience.”
He had the magic touch, having multiple pilots turned into long-running series. He was nominated for an Emmy 24 times in 26 years and worked consistently until a year before his death.
The secret was the way he brought the cast together. He describes, “it was my job to mold them into an ensemble, and they did round into a group of people who loved each other.”
This earned him 11 Emmy Awards and five Directors Guild of America Awards, including being awarded the inaugural DGA’s Lifetime Achievement Award for Television Direction.
In a 2003 interview by the Television Academy, he was asked how he wants to be remembered, and he said, “That every night forever you can tune in somewhere, and there’ll be a show I did.”
He’s survived by his wife, Debbie, four daughters, seven grandchildren, and the countless people whose careers he launched and the countless viewers he inspired with his television legacy.
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